


Time

by red_sky



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Cuba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:58:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_sky/pseuds/red_sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik make do with what little they have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time

**Author's Note:**

> After going insane over Charles/Erik after XMFC was first released only to drift away a few months later, I find myself coming back to this fandom. Now that I finally have an AO3 account, I'm posting all the fics I've written here. This was originally written for this prompt at 1stclass_kink.
> 
> http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/806.html?thread=68902#t68902

No one would ever claim that Charles Xavier is a selfish man. A touch arrogant in his youth, sure, but never selfish. His whole life has been dedicated to the discovery, the validation and the salvation of mutant kind. He has opened his wallet, his home, and his mind for the world, and has never placed his wants or needs above those of others like him. That is why no one breathes a word when once a year, he disappears, just for one day. _He deserves it_ , he hears the others whisper to each other. _He deserves a day to himself after all he’s done for us._

He’s not so certain that they would agree if they knew exactly how he spends this rare day. It is by far the most selfish thing he’s ever done, but while they all look at him as the savior of their kind, at his core he is still very much human. A human whose mistakes and failures and regrets haunt him even more than the ghosts that will one day take over his mind. It is selfish, and tomorrow he will lament it and hate himself some more for his complete and utter weakness. But tomorrow has yet to come, and he reminds himself that this is his day… no, not just his day, but _their_ one day to leave it all behind.

Charles realizes that he’s been staring at his watch for several minutes, as if by staring at it intently enough, he can force time to speed by so it will be twelve thirty. That’s the time they agreed on, even though at the time he had hoped beyond hope that they could have arranged it earlier. He doesn’t want to think about why it has to start so late, and decides to busy himself with ordering yet another cup of coffee. He’s already had one, and if he’s not careful he’ll be completely wired. Yet as soon as he goes to make his way to the counter, he’s stopped dead in his tracks by the all-too-familiar pang in his chest, directly against his heart. Every hair on his arms stands up, and the back of his neck feels almost feverish to the touch. He has been waiting for this moment with a longing reserved for fairy tales, and when he feels a hand on his shoulder, he closes his eyes to savor it.

“Charles.”

He lifts his head, and his lips curve into an involuntarily smile, full of the warmth and affection that he’s had to keep locked in his heart for over five years now. Except that today, it’s allowed, and he does not dare to try and hide it. “Erik.”

Seeing that same affection reflected back to him makes Charles feel invincible. Erik has always been able to do that, and if Charles didn’t know better, he would think that Erik could make the entire world fall away with a flick of his wrist. He’s quiet as Erik settles into the seat across from him, and for a moment, neither speak a word. Both are mentally taking in the sight of the other, cataloguing every new line on each other’s faces. Erik is just as handsome as ever, his broad shoulders squared and his skin slightly more golden than the last time they saw each other. He’s also staring at the strands of slightly grey that are peppered throughout Charles’s hair, and Charles self-consciously runs his fingers through it. “I know,” he murmurs, laughing a bit. “It takes some getting used to.”

“No,” Erik says, shaking his head. “It suits you.” And Charles has never been more in love with this man than he is right now.

Again they’re quiet, staring at each other for far too long before Erik drops his eyes to the table. Charles made a promise to himself long ago that he would never, under any circumstances, read Erik’s mind unless given permission. Yet he doesn’t need to in order to see how tired Erik is. His body radiates power, and oh, there is so much power inside him, but his eyes are still haunted, and he still wears grief like a noose around his neck. But Charles says nothing, not wanting to waste more of their precious, borrowed time. “I would have ordered for you,” he says, gesturing to his cup of coffee. “But I’m afraid this establishment doesn’t put shots of brandy in their coffee.”

At that, Erik laughs, the sound rich and causing Charles’ stomach to twist and turn. “A shame, really,” he retorts. He slides his hand across the countertop, and places it on top of Charles’. His fingers curl around Charles’s, and his smile is so soft, so dazzling that it is a miracle that Charles can even breathe right now. “But I didn’t come for the coffee. I’d rather leave, find somewhere more…private. That is, of course, you don’t mind?”

At the word private, Charles can feel his cheeks flushing, but he forces himself to smile and shake his head. “No, I don’t mind at all.” Placing his hands on the ledge of the table, he pushes himself back and starts to wheel himself towards the door. The first time they met on this day, four years ago, the look on Erik’s face when he first saw Charles in his wheelchair had gutted Charles. The pain and the guilt had been an assault on Charles’ mind, and it had taken some time to soothe Erik through it. As the years have passed, it is less severe and acute, although it is still there, just dulled. Charles can still feel it, and he looks up at Erik besides him, and the smile they share is knowing, albeit slightly sad.

They make their way out of the shop, and without even reading his mind, Charles know where Erik is leading him to. He knows he should probably say something, but the truth is he has nothing to say. They don’t use this time to talk about the past. They don’t use this time to question the other about their future plans, or their warring ideologies. They use this time to pretend as if they’re other people, to pretend that they’re just ordinary men, spending the day with their beloved. “Hopefully there’s a spot available,” he finds himself saying, fighting the urge to wince at how worn his shoulders are from pushing himself. “Don’t want a repeat of the last time.”

“I was very polite to that nice old couple,” Erik protested. Glancing down at Charles, it only takes him a split second to step behind Charles and grab hold of the handles of his chair. Normally Charles does not allow anyone to push his chair, refusing to acknowledge any weakness, but with Erik, he doesn’t have to be strong. He gives Erik a grateful smile, but shakes his head as Erik continues to profess his innocence. “I was.”

“Telling them nicely to get lost is not very polite,” Charles insists. He chuckles to himself at the memory, and as they fall into another comfortable silence, he places his hand on top of Erik’s, squeezing his fingers. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to come.”

Erik suddenly stops, and when they lock eyes, Charles is convinced that he is literally drowning. “Of course I came,” Erik whispers, the tone of his voice suggesting that he is bewildered at the idea of not being here. “I wouldn’t miss this day for the world. Not even if I was on my death bed.”

While Charles has never doubted this, it is still reassuring to hear. A part of him has always known that this day is merely a means of torture for the both of them; he knew it the very first time he sent Erik that message four years ago, asking to meet with him. He hadn’t honestly thought then that Erik would come. They had parted on such bitter terms, Charles had been convinced it was just a pipe dream on his part. But Erik had come, and had every year since then. The fact that Erik could do this, give Charles just a sliver despite how much it teara him apart, speaks more volumes about his goodness than Erik himself would ever know. The thought makes Charles smile, and closes his eyes as he tightens his grip on Erik’s hand. “Me too.”

Once they reach the park, they walk for a few moments before Charles finally spots an empty park bench. It doesn’t take Erik long to step up the board, and they find themselves lost in their game of chess. This game has been played for two years now, and both remember exactly where each piece was on the board from last time. Charles isn’t sure they’ll ever finish, and while they are both men who like to finish what they start, it seems fitting that the game seems to be eternal. Both contemplate each move, both contemplate the other’s counterattack, and it will always be a dance with them. But Charles wouldn’t have it any other way, and it isn’t until Erik laughs that Charles realize that he was even broadcasting his thoughts so loudly.

“Careful, Charles. Others might hear you.”

_Let them_ , Charles almost says, but he bites his tongue just in the nick of time. He spends three hundred and sixty four days out of the year keeping quiet, and it is only on this day that he is finally, truly free. Right now, he wants nothing more than for the entire world to hear him scream at the top of his lungs. He wants nothing more than for the entire world to know that he, Charles Xavier, is in love with this man, Erik Lehnsherr. He wants this knowledge to echo in their minds just like their emotions and fears echo in his, he wants them to know that it is they who have built a wall between them so high, it can’t ever be climbed. He wants them to know that they are the reason that he can’t have this every day for the rest of his life, and it is so selfish, so cruel, but he can’t help himself. Every other day of the year, he doesn’t blame the rest of the world. But today, he’s allowed to so let them hear. Let them hear, and let them know that their fear and their hatred and their intolerance have destroyed what could have been so beautiful.

“Charles.” At that, Charles looks up, and the look on Erik’s face is breathtaking. So full of longing, so full of love, and yes, full of agony. Erik glances around, as if to ensure that no one else has heard what he says, his jaw clenched with words that he won’t say for Charles’ sake. He swallows, and finally looks back up at Charles before reaching out to take the chess board down. “I…I think it’s time for us to go,” he says, and Charles feels a tingle slide down his spine, stopping right above his useless and lifeless legs. “Somewhere much more private.”

As they walk, Charles tries not to read Erik’s mind, although it is difficult not to. Erik is projecting his thoughts so loudly that it is near impossible to ignore. Fragments of sentences are practically imbedded into Charles’ skull, and he finds himself echoing the very same sentiments. _Just a few more blocks, I’ve missed you so much._ It would be a lie if Charles said that he didn’t live for the moments like the one about to come. And it happens every time, for there is only so far secret smiles and clandestine touches can go before one or the other or both finally snap and give in. And judging from the waves radiating from Erik’s body, Erik is about three seconds away from giving in and taking what both of them want him to take.

They finally reach the hotel, and while Charles is not surprised that Erik arranged this in advance, he is somewhat surprised at how posh the hotel is. He decides that he doesn’t want to know how Erik was able to afford such a place, and focuses on the undercurrent of desire that is steadily rising between them. He is more than aware of his flushed cheeks during the elevator ride, and they only flush hotter as they reach the room and Erik places the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob. When they finally lock eyes as Erik shuts the door, that same undercurrent engulfs them, as Erik strides over to Charles and Charles opens his arms to brace himself for impact.

When Erik presses his lips to Charles’, Charles feels as if the world has swallowed him whole. Erik’s lips are so hot and wet and there is nothing graceful, nothing elegant to this kiss. It is desperate and needy and devouring, and Charles is certain that he is on fire. He wastes no time in parting his lips, and Erik eagerly slides his tongue inside, moaning right into Charles’ mouth. He raises his hand to Erik’s neck, curling his fingers around Erik’s hair and tugging on the strands, eliciting another moan from Erik so deep, it feels like the floor is vibrating. And while Charles cannot feel his legs anymore, thankfully it’s only his legs that are paralyzed; he was already half-hard the moment Erik sat down at the coffee shop and smiled at him, but now he is so turned on, it feels like his blood is boiling in his veins.

Erik breaks the kiss, causing Charles to let out a whimper of protest. Yet he sighs in relief as Erik trails his lips down the length of his neck, sucking hard at the flesh right behind his ear. If he wasn’t hard before, he definitely is now, and he wishes more than anything to pull Erik flush against him, and let him feel just how much he wants him. Before he can say anything, Erik pulls away, and before Charles can question him, Erik slides his arms underneath Charles’ to lift him out of his chair. “No, I can…I can do this-“

“Charles.” The tone in Erik’s voice leaves no room for argument, and Charles lets go of his pride and allows Erik to lift him out of the chair. It makes him feel so weak, so childish, but his self-pity is soothed by Erik placing a soft, fleeting kiss to his temple. Sometimes Charles doesn’t know how Erik can stand this, loving a man who can barely move, who can barely satisfy him. But he dares not say it aloud, and when Erik lays him against the bed and settles in besides him, the look in Erik’s eyes leaves no room for questions. Just as Charles loves Erik in spite of the things he has done, Erik loves him in spite of his physical limitations. And just in case Charles needs more proof, Erik places his hand on his face, stroking his cheek with his thumb, a warm smile on his face. “Perfect.”

Charles can’t help but smile, and as Erik slides his thumb further down his face, his eyes flutter closed. Erik’s touch is soft, and when the pad of his thumb traces along Charles’ lower lip, Charles can’t help but pull Erik’s finger into his mouth. He stares Erik in the eye as he sucks on Erik’s finger, a moan escaping from his lips at the flash of lust in Erik’s eyes. That flash is brief, though, and in an instant, Erik has his armor back on. All this time, and he is still so afraid. Charles knows that Erik holds back in fear of burning Charles with the full depth of his love. It’s how Erik has always seen himself, as a time bomb that is three seconds away from going off and annihilating everything in his path. But he has nothing to fear, and Charles doesn’t care how many times he has to show Erik this, he’ll do it gladly. Freely.

Pulling back, Erik’s thumb slides out of his mouth, and Charles takes hold of his hand, placing it on his thigh. “I need you against me,” he says rather simply. There’s something more intimate about saying the words out loud rather than whispering them into Erik’s head. And Erik wastes no time, pushing Charles’ legs apart so he can slide in between them, pressing his hips flat against Charles’. It never ceases to amaze him how well they fit against each other, like two puzzle pieces or a lock and key designed for each other. Like we’re made to do this forever and ever, he thinks, and the smile on Erik’s face is one of agreement. “Is that better?”

“Yes, much better.”

Erik closes the distance, initiating another kiss. This one is softer, less frantic than the first, a kiss between two lovers who know each other’s bodies inside and out. Charles murmurs into the kiss, placing his hand on Erik’s jaw. It’s the kind of kiss that is lazy and languid, a Sunday morning kiss after a weekend of debauchery. He wishes he could feel Erik’s hands on his thighs, feel them pressing against his skin, so he reaches down and pushes Erik’s hands up to his hips so he can feel it. Taking the hint, Erik pulls Charles’s shirt from his slacks, sliding his hands underneath the hem to trace his fingers against Charles’ skin. “I could do this all day,” he confesses, lips lingering against Charles’ ear, his breath hot against his skin. “Touch you like this.”

“I wouldn’t complain,” Charles says, beginning to pant at how warm Erik’s breath is. Sliding his hands underneath Erik’s shirt, he takes his time as he traces his fingers along Erik’s shoulder blades, wanting to commit every curve of muscle into his memory. Before Erik, Charles had been quite the ladies’ man, a somewhat bumbling lothario, yet he had never felt the depth of passion that he feels every time they are together. He is torn between taking his time and diving headfirst in, but Erik makes the decision for him, rocking his hips against Charles’ slowly, almost teasingly. “Oh God.”

Erik laughs, a somewhat dark twinge in his voice, as he presses his hips against Charles’ again. “God has nothing to do with this,” he murmurs, each press of his hips harder and more insistent than the one before it. It certainly feels like heaven, and Charles can’t help but dig his nails in Erik’s shoulders, as if some of the tension in his body will be released somehow. He’s certain that his eyes roll into the back of his head as Erik trails his tongue down the length of Charles’ neck, nipping at the skin along the way. Even though he can’t move his legs, he still squirms in place, tilting his head to the side to allow Erik more access to his neck. Erik’s tongue, his deliciously wicked tongue, traces circles against the skin there as the pace of his hips quicken, and Charles lets out a moan, deep and desperate. “Right there,” he pants as Erik sucks on a particularly sensitive patch of skin. “Right there, please.”

Erik groans at that, pulling the skin into his mouth and rolling it in between his teeth. He does love to hear Charles beg, loves having Charles at his mercy. And he is…he is completely, utterly at Erik’s mercy. The feel of Erik pressed against him, the friction of each thrust of his hips, is divine, and if Charles didn’t know better, he would swear that the thermostat in the room was broken. As it is, he’s starting to sweat, his dress shirt clinging to his skin, strands of hair matted to his forehead. As he opens his eyes, he sees that Erik is not that much better off, beads of sweat collecting at his temples, his lips parted and his eyes so dark. The dominance radiates from his body, and the possession in his voice is enough to make Charles moan as he asks, “It feels good, doesn’t it, Charles?”

“Yes,” Charles pants, eyes squinted shut, waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

“You think about this all the time, don’t you?” Erik asks, sliding his hand underneath Charles’ shirt, his thumb brushing against his nipple. “Don’t you?”

“Yes.” Charles barely recognizes his own voice, barely even knows his own name right now. “All the time. Every day. When I’m alone…especially when I’m alone.”

The meaning behind that is obvious, and before Charles knows it, Erik is kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before. He kisses Charles like he’s going to crawl inside, and Charles lets him, their tongues dueling for dominance. Erik is thrusting harder and harder against him, and Charles knows that if they don’t slow down, this is going to be over before it needs to be. But he can’t manage to make himself care, and he is grasping at Erik’s shoulders, sliding them down his back and reaching blindly for his hips. He uses all of the strength he has to rock Erik forward, grunting against Erik’s lips at the strain. There’s no way they can stop now, not when they’re both so close. Not when they both need this so much.

Erik finally breaks the kiss, his eyes clenched shut as he rocks his hips forward again and again. Before Charles, sex was a means to an end for Erik, something to either pass the time or a momentary release from the horrors that comprise his life. But now, and Charles knows this because he can feel it in every touch and hear it in every thought, he allows himself to be open and available and even vulnerable. He lets Charles inside, and he actually allows himself to be happy. This is all he’s ever wanted for Erik, for him to find the peace had eluded him for so long, even in small spurts. Even if it only lasts for a few moments, at least he has that. That he finds those moments with Charles means more than Charles, with his vast intelligence, could ever put into words.

Yet suddenly, there is a strange twinge in the air, and it takes Charles a moment to gather his bearings to figure out exactly what is wrong. It’s almost like…sadness, and Charles realizes that it’s Erik, thinking things he ought to know not to think. Things like _Too soon_ and _Not enough time_ and _I don’t want you to go_ and it takes everything Charles has to suppress a sob. It isn’t supposed to be like this, there isn’t supposed to be sadness and regret. “Ssh,” he murmurs against Erik’s neck, lifting his cheek and pressing it to Erik’s as he runs his fingers through Erik’s hair. “It’s alright. It’s alright. Just focus. The point between rage and serenity, remember?”

At that, Erik turns his head, his eyes watering as he struggles to speak. Charles smiles, willing Erik to remember why they’re here, to remember the day in which they fell hopelessly and honestly stupidly in love with each other. Erik smiles back, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Charles’ lips before pulling back. “Charles,” he whispers, kissing him again, and again, and again until the memories have faded and Erik is firmly back in the moment. “Please…”

There’s a part of Charles that comes undone when Erik begs. Every time Erik does, Charles tries not to think of the times in which Erik has had to beg for his life, for relief, for peace of mind. There is something small and sad about the way Erik begs, and Charles doesn’t have the heart to deny him. He slips his hand between them, pressing his palm flat against the bulge in Erik’s slacks, rubbing him through the material. Erik drops his head, panting against the space between Charles’ neck and shoulder, soft whimpers slipping from his lips. He’s so close, and Charles is determined to give Erik the release he craves, pressing his hand harder against him. _It doesn’t matter what you do_ , he tells Erik, increasing the pace of his hand as Erik rocks his hips into his palm faster and faster. _None of it matters. I still believe in you. I still trust you. I still love you. Always._

At that, Erik chokes, and it is more than enough. He comes so hard, his body spasming from the waves of pleasure. He cries out, panting Charles’ name like a prayer, hips bucking erratically as he comes down. The look on Erik’s face, the pleasure etched against his features, the utter calm that soon replaces it, may in fact be the most beautiful thing Charles has ever seen in his life. Sometimes he feels as if his love for Erik will consume him one day, and moments like this only reaffirm that suspicion. He leans forward and kisses Erik, sweetly and lovingly, and when he pulls back, the very same love he feels for Erik is reflected back to him. Erik doesn’t waste a moment in slipping his hand between them to return the favor, those long, elegant fingers stretched tightly against the fabric of his slacks and sliding up and down. The pressure is so intense, so blinding that Charles almost sees stars, but Erik doesn’t stop. He keeps going, and when he kisses Charles, Charles can hear his voice echoing in his head. _You are a god amongst insects_ , he whispers. _And I’m yours. Always._

The awe and reverence in Erik’s voice is too much, and Charles comes just as hard, just as fast. White-hot pleasure shoots through him for what feels like an eternity, and when it finally stops, he lays his head back against the pillow, panting to catch his breath. Gently Erik slides off him to lay beside him, but he gingerly lays his arm across Charles’ waist, hand pressed against his hip. Neither say anything for while, both basking in the afterglow. This is truly the part Charles waits for; as sappy as it sounds, he loves to lay next to Erik, to hear each quiet, exhaled breath, to feel his heartbeat beneath his palm as they drift off to sleep. This is the part he wishes would last forever, the part that always slips by far too soon. This time is no exception. Although they both fight it, they can’t help but succumb to their exhaustion, falling asleep pressed against each other, the reality of tomorrow still a distant vision.

But tomorrow comes. It always comes, and when Charles wakes, he can feel his heart sinking in his chest. The wall is back up, the armor is now firmly in place. The same words uttered last night are tucked away, both of them can only sneak glances at each other instead of looking the other in the eye. Last night should have been enough to sate them, but it wasn’t, and it never will be.

Erik does give Charles the courtesy of accompanying him to the train station, but he is so guarded, so distant. One would think that Charles would be used to this, but he never is. And while no one would ever accuse Charles of being a selfish man, he can’t help but feel like one as Erik helps him board the train. In the next few days, the urge to indulge in his selfish desires will wane, but right now, he is ready to plead with Erik to forget all of this, to leave the rest of the world behind and make their own, where nights like last night aren’t a once-a-year occurrence.

But he doesn’t. He bites his tongue and clasps Erik’s hand briefly before Erik walks away. He watches with longing as Erik stands at the platform to see him off, and he refrains from placing his hand on the glass. _Until next year_ , he whispers to Erik, smiling the smile of a haunted man.

_Until next year_ , Erik whispers back. _Happy anniversary._

_Happy anniversary, my friend._


End file.
